so will you be, my life support?
by swishandflickwit
Summary: He brings her back to the light. Post-Darkness, pre-Underworld CS AU.


**AN:** **I haven't watched the latest episode because school is stressful and Internet is slow. Fml.**

 **Anyway, I just really wanted Killian washing the Dark Swan away from Emma. It was a mighty need and the muse would not leave it alone. Sadly, when they were finished washing, the muse _then_ left so the ending's a little off. Whoops.**

 **Hope you enjoy it anyway!**

 **P.S. Sam Smith forever.**

* * *

When the dust settles, they retreat to the Jolly.

At first he suggested her house. After all, not only is it equipped with the modern amenities of her world, it is also considerably more spacious than his ship.

But at the mention of her blue dwelling, she immediately planted her feet firmly on the ground and vehemently shook her head.

"I want to go home," she had whispered. "Take me _home._ "

Then she proceeded to tug him in the direction of the docks, silencing all doubts in his mind about what she considered "home".

It's become as much as her ship as it his (he'll give up the Jolly a thousand times, _for her_ , and each time it would be worth it if it meant she'd be by his side) so he's content to let her take the lead. She heads below deck and they don't stop till they reach the Captain's quarters. They walk towards the middle of the cabin and only then does she bring them to a halt.

And in all that time, not once did she let go of him.

She hasn't spoken since her quiet command to take her to the Jolly and so he raises their joined hands so he can graze his knuckles across her cheek. Her hair is still up in a severe bun and she is dressed in black but her skin is no longer a ghostly pale that highlighted the sharpness of her cheekbones and was a manifestation of the darkness within her, but pale all the same; the kind that speaks of sleepless nights and a bone-deep exhaustion. His heart twinges.

"What do you need, love?"

She shakes her head, lips pursed in a line as her eyes turn glassy.

Anyone with a modicum of good sense would probably take that as their cue to back off, but he's long ago realized that when it comes to his Swan, all sense gets thrown out the window.

He takes a step closer to her. "What do you need?"

She swallows the lump in her throat and rasps, "I don't think you can give it."

He should feel slighted but all the statement does is make him even more determined. He knows how this goes, how the Darkness takes a toll on a person, how one's demons can feed on the soul. But, like breaking already broken bones so they heal properly, if she wants any chance of mending she too will need to break. He hates this part the most but drawing on his own experiences, it _is_ necessary. She needs to let it out and _feel_ – every inch of hurt, guilt, self-loathing and regret if only so the wounds don't fester. She needs to lay down her broken pieces so she can see which ones are gone and how to mend the ones she does keep.

"What do you need?"

She tightens her grip on his hand, still raised to her cheek.

"I don't… I can't…"

Her eyelashes flutter and her breathing shallows, an effort no doubt, to keep herself together.

But he presses.

"What do you need?"

"No."

He brings their hands to her chest, where he can feel the staccato beat of her heart.

His lips graze her temple. "Tell me what you need and I've got you, love." He then brushes his lips against the shell of her ear and breathes pleadingly, "please."

He thinks it might be the "please" that does it because then she's dropping her head on his shoulder and letting go of his hand only to clutch tightly at the lapels of his jacket.

"It still feels like it's there." She shudders and presses her forehead harder on his shoulder like she wants to melt into him. "I know it's not but… _but_ ," she sighs. "It's like it's under my skin and I want to claw it out. But how can you claw at something that _isn't there_?"

Her tone is borderline hysteric and she _doesn't know how to explain_ but he doesn't need her to. He need only glance at the mark on his right arm, is reminded of it every time he hears the click of his hook in its place. He knows all too well what it's like to lose a part of yourself – physically _and_ emotionally and loathe as she, he or anyone else is to admit it, the Darkness _was_ a part of her however brief a time.

She moves her forehead to the skin of his neck where she breathes him in.

"Clean," she says. "I need to be clean."

He gathers she means more than just ridding herself of the grime beneath her fingernails or the dust that layers her hair. No, she could only mean the cleansing of her soul, the expunction of the actions and the decisions she made as the Dark One.

And he _aches_ because that is a hurt you simply cannot erase overnight, as he well knows. Hell, 300 years and he's _still_ working on it. He only hopes that come the nights wherein she feels like she is drowning – and there will be plenty – she deems him worthy enough to turn to him for life support.

Gods know, in times of darkness, she is surely his.

But the fact of the matter is, there is some truth to her earlier statement. _This_ is not something he can give.

 _Yet_.

This is something only time can mend. But that doesn't mean there are no other means he can employ to ease the process.

"Okay."

She looks up at him, confusion marring her brow. "Okay?"

He kisses the frown on her forehead away. "Okay."

She whimpers when he pulls away so he entwines their hands once more, leading her to the pitcher and basin situated on his desk. He's spent his nights on the Jolly since their return to Storybrooke and he's thankful for this, as he doesn't have to venture far for fresh water and a cloth.

The sun has nearly gone, setting shadows all over the cabin. He means to light a candle or two so they aren't completely plunged in blackness but Emma only tightens her hold on him.

He stops.

With his hook, he tips her chin up so her eyes meet his.

"Do you trust me?"

A long beat passes wherein they merely look at each other. Emma's answer comes when, slowly, she lets go of his hand.

He nods and quickly makes work of lighting the small fireplace in order to fight the approaching cold and to boil some water. Then he lights a candle by his bedside before making his way back to her.

"Eyes on me, love."

Not that he needs to tell her, he's felt her eyes on him the entire time he paced the length of the cabin, making his preparations.

But it's as much for him as it is for her as he proceeds towards his next move.

Keeping their gazes locked, his hand trails the collar of her leather top before stopping at the first button.

 _May I?_ he silently asks and after a deep breath from Emma, she nods.

 _I trust you_ , her eyes seem to say.

Slowly, he undoes the buttons of her top, letting his fingers find their way but careful not to touch her skin. He makes it a point to hold her stare as he doesn't want Emma to misconstrue his intentions as anything but innocent.

This is about _her_ needs.

(And _when_ he does take her, it will not be because the fear of losing each other hangs heavy over their heads but because they have _nothing to fear_ )

When all the buttons are freed, Emma, without prompting, shrugs her top off.

His breath hitches at the ease with which she does the movement and she nods encouragingly.

He glances briefly at the black lace that covers her breasts. It's a corset he's never seen before. He knows he can always ask Emma how to maneuver it but he doesn't want her to do a thing. This is about _her_ and his wanting to _take care_ of her, so he resolves to go back to it later. He can figure it out.

But what really captures his attention is the chain dangling between her neck, previously hidden beneath the thick layer of her collar. He traces the length of the chain till he reaches the silver band at the end and it's her turn for her breathing to hitch.

He looks back at her, sees the tiny smile on her face and he can't help but mirror it.

 _Bring her home to me_ , he had said.

And she did.

He kneels then, placing a hand on her heeled boot. He steadily lowers the zipper that allows the shoe to cling to her shapely calf. She places a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as he removes it completely. He does the same with the other.

She squeezes his shoulder before letting go and waiting for his next move.

He places hand and hook on either side of her hips. Then he curls his fingers and the tip of his hook (careful not to pierce her skin) into the waistband of her leggings before rolling it down and peeling it away from her legs till she stands in nothing more than her black undergarments.

She's bathed in fire and moonlight, nary but scraps of clothing covering her most intimate parts and despite the fatigue that lines her shoulders and her eyes, she's still the most beautiful thing he's seen in all of 300 years.

He tells her as much, whispering "you're beautiful" against the jut of her hip before pressing a kiss to the skin there.

(he's still just a man, after all)

But she shakes her head sadly.

"I'm dark." And as she says this, she takes a few steps back till she is covered in shadows, leaving him kneeling on the floor and hands still clutching at the space where her hip had been.

He sighs. He uses the moment to retrieve the pot from the fireplace with his hook before pouring the heated water into the pitcher then putting the pot away.

Emma is still shrouded by shadows so he takes her hand, relishes when she automatically winds their fingers.

He brings her back to the light.

"You weren't always."

"I'm damaged."

"So am I."

She looks at him then and an understanding passes between them because they can't deny the edges that line their persons.

She becomes silent and he pours a bit of water and scented bath salt in the basin. He tests the temperature, deems it just right then dips the cloth in it. He wrings it as much as he can with one hand before kneeling at her feet once more.

He starts with her foot, wiping at her heel to her arch to each of her toes. Then he props it on her thigh before circling her ankle. Gently, he runs the cloth up the curve of her calf then her thigh before lowering her foot back to the ground. He repeats his actions on her other leg, pays special attention to the backs of her knees when he hears her breath hitch at his touch there and when he's done, he drops the cloth and runs his hand along the length of her leg before stopping at her hip once more.

He kisses at her hip again because damn but he can't help himself when it comes to his lass.

"You are exquisite, Emma Swan." He looks at her as he says this so she cannot doubt his sincerity.

Her breathing quickens and there is a sheen to her eyes but she says nothing. Just brings his hand to the garter of her underwear and helps him curl his fingers there while her other hand tugs at the other side and together, they lower it to the ground.

Their gaze is broken when she closes her eyes to the feel of his lips on the same spot on her hip.

"Magnificent," he whispers, leaning his forehead there for a moment to catch his breath.

He rises then, bringing the cloth with him. He rinses it off before starting with her shoulder. He lays the square cloth flat on it before slowly, gently, sliding it down the length of her arm. He does it again, putting slight pressure and Emma's eyes are still closed but she lets out a sigh of contentment at his motions. After a third time, he kisses the crease of her elbow before moving to her hand. He props her palm on his hook and delicately, runs the cloth along each of her digits. When he's finished, he turns her hand over so that her palm faces him. He runs the cloth along it too before planting an open mouth kiss there.

When the Darkness had a hold of her, she was cold… always so cold. Whether it be her touch, her words or her actions. But as he does the motions again on her other arm, he likes to think he's chasing the cold away.

He rinses the cloth but after wringing it, leaves it on the table.

He moves to her back and traces the hooks that hold her corset together. Then he runs his fingers along the length of her spine before whispering at her ear.

"You're radiant."

Then deftly, as if he'd been doing it forever and not at all his first time, he unclasps her bra and the lace garment falls to the floor.

"And stunning."

He kisses the juncture where her shoulder meets her neck.

"And everything."

He wraps his hooked arm around her waist.

"And _enough_."

Emma leans her head back on his shoulder, presses the length of her body along his really and finally, _finally_ she cries. She doesn't sob or bawl or whimper or even sniffle… merely lets the tears fall freely from her eyes.

Killian holds her tighter.

Then he reaches for the cloth and continues to wash her because that is what she asked.

He runs the cloth down her elegant back, along her stomach and the underside of her breasts.

After, he moves to her back once more and examines her bun. He notices it is held up by several pins and meticulously, he undoes the lot of it until her curls hang loose and free down to her waist. He grabs a comb from a drawer, a remnant from his days with Milah, and begins to smoothen the tangles that formed itself in her hair.

All the while Emma finds release as she cries, thankful for Killian's infallible understanding. While this wasn't what she had in mind when she said she wanted to be clean, his words and his actions are a soothing balm to her battered soul.

As he wrangles to tame her curls, he speaks.

"I know you feel broken right now, Swan... Perhaps, a wisp of the darkness _does_ remain with you, but haven't we all got darkness? Just remember that there's an army of people here who _love you_ and who are willing to help you find the light." He presses a kiss to her hair when the final tendril is unraveled. "You'll find your way, of that I am certain."

She turns and she kisses him then. Because words are _his_ forte and she knows no other way to express her gratitude _but_ this.

When they break apart for air, he leans his forehead against hers and asks, "Do you believe me, love?"

Emma's hand finds its way to the ring on her neck and she nods, not trusting herself to speak for fear of breaking down again.

Her other hand is laid atop his chest, feeling for his heartbeat before finding its way to the buttons of his waistcoat.

She looks up at him and he at her as she begins to unbutton it.

And Killian, Killian can't look away. She's much quicker than he was in the undressing department and when she reaches his trousers, a flicker of desire ignites low in his belly and straight to his member.

But it's a lazy sort of desire, languid and easy because he figures Emma needs this just as much. A sigh escapes him when she massages his thighs then again when she traces the line of his abs. He nearly loses it when she follows the curve of his butt cheeks.

Her touches are light, nearly reverent even, like she's afraid to touch him, as if she thinks that if she presses too hard, he might crumble.

When she plants an open-mouthed kiss against his heart, he thinks he just might.

He cups her cheek, wipes the remaining tear tracks from her face. He smiles.

"Come to bed then, lass."

"Will you stay?"

"Do you want me to?"

She smiles, what seems like her first genuine smile in ages and says, "I always want you."

Now he really crumbles then, and surges forward to capture her lips.

She backs them to the bed and she can probably feel his arousal because he senses her hands slip down from his hair down to his chest and lower but he really is just content with holding her so he stops their wandering path.

He lets go of her briefly to pull the covers back. She crawls towards the wall, giving him a lovely view of her derriere, and also amusing him cause she gravitates towards the spot like she's done it a thousand times, like she's _been_ here a thousand times.

Perhaps this bed was made for him and her after all.

He moves to blow the candle out but she stops him.

"Don't. I want to sleep with the lights on." _Because I'm tired of being surrounded by the darkness_ , is what she doesn't say but he hears it all the same.

He nods then slides in after her after removing his brace. He wraps her in his arms and revels in the feeling of their bodies against each other, chest to chest and legs entwined. It seems like everywhere their skin touches is afire and it's heady and addicting and right and _true_.

"You're a survivor," he tells her. "If anyone can get through this, it's you."

After everything she's done, she still has difficulty grasping the fact that he's _here_ in her arms and he's forgiven her and this isn't just another cruel and rather realistic fantasy her mind has conjured.

But there's no denying the heat between them. She had been cold for so long that she'd nearly forgotten what heat felt like, what it was to have his arms locked tight around her. There's no way she could have imagined this.

And no one could have ignited her this way _but_ him.

"I love you," she says.

His whole face lights up because this is the first time she's said it and it hadn't sounded like a goodbye.

"And I you."

Desire flares between them once more but he makes no move to address it. Just rolls her to her back and kisses her eyelids, the tip of her nose before capturing her mouth.

"I love you," he says once more, just because he can and she's not going anywhere.

She cups his face.

"You're my light."

And he is because she's so tired of being surrounded by darkness even when the sun is out and the skies are blue and when she looks at him… he's just _shining,_ everything about him is ablaze and so is everything within his vicinity.

 _Anyone_ within his vicinity.

They kiss once more because she craves his warmth. Then the exhaustion of the day catches up to her.

And then she's falling but she's okay with that because she knows he'll catch her.

* * *

Emma's confession keeps him awake because he's never been anyone's light before and yet she _said_ …

She _has_ to know that the only reason he found his way back to the light was because _she_ was there to guide him back.

Even with the Darkness, she found a way back to the side of good.

He wants to tell her she's her own light because she's strong that way and he _would have_ , had her admission not stunned him to silence.

But it's early and she hasn't slept in weeks so he kisses her shoulder and falls asleep to the rays of the sun marking her hair golden and kissing her skin pink.

And the candles burn out and the flames in the fireplace die but still…

 _She shines_.

* * *

 **AN:** **Ok but like, listen to the song Life Support and tell me it WASN'T made for CS? Seriously, listen to it. It's great.**


End file.
